


først

by apolliades



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, POV Second Person, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5434688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolliades/pseuds/apolliades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the first time ragnar takes athelstan to his bed. short, slightly abstract porn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	først

The way he touches you is not how you expect. He puts his hands on you gently, not with intention to hurt. It takes you by surprise, makes you freeze up and hold your breath. He laughs, softly.

Your name sounds foreign in his mouth, in his rough hard tongue. Now, it scares you – but soon you will have forgotten that it ever sounded any other way.

He puts his hands on your middle and pushes, making you suck in your breath. His fingers meet around your waist. You feel tiny. You feel almost like a child. 

“You are shaped like a woman, here,” he tells you, following the dips and curves of your body with his hands, smiling. His smile frightens you; he smiles like a predator, showing you his teeth.

“How about here?” 

He hooks his fingers into the waist of your trousers and tugs. You stumble. You blush. You aren’t sure if he expects you to answer.

He grabs between your legs and laughs aloud when you gasp and jerk in shock and says, “No. You are not like a woman here.”

You stare at him, panting. You cannot move. You don’t know what you would do if you could.

He strips you, and you let him, becoming weak and pliant and unresisting under firm hands and lithe fingers. He pushes you so that you fall flat onto the bed. The blankets are rough and scratch at your skin, and you squirm as he stands and just looks at you, with his predator smile, his sharp teeth and sharper eyes. 

After a moment he sheds his clothes too, and they fall from him like nothing. Without them he almost is more frightening; his body is all dark lines and smooth hard edges of muscle. You watch the muscle flex under his skin as he pulls off his shirt; ribs expand and contract, stomach muscles tense and relax; tendons press in his arms and hands as he undoes laces and clasps. You lie there, feeling hot and wet and heavy on the straw bed, feeling like you’re on fire. You are not yet familiar enough with what lust means to know that that is what is coursing through your blood, making you swell and quiver and quake. You confuse it with fear. If it is fear, why don’t you run? Why don’t you _want_ to run?

He falls on you like a dog on a rabbit. He kneels across you and pulls you up by the skull and presses his mouth over yours. His mouth is searing hot and his breath fills your lungs and he tastes of salt and iron and earth. His tongue is behind your teeth. His teeth are breaking the skin of your lip. It hurts and makes you whimper. So he stops and lets you breathe and licks across your bleeding mouth like he’s licking a wound. 

He puts his mouth on all of you, from your mouth to your throat to your chest to your hips; he likes to stop and sit back on his heels and watch your face twist and your back arch and your chest heave with breathing so hard. Your responsiveness makes him laugh and grin and touch you more and kiss you harder just to watch you react, to watch your confusion. He likes the way your mouth falls open and your eyes blow wide when he puts his hands between your legs and pushes or tugs or just brushes his fingers softly. He presses your bodies together and you feel him damp and hard and smooth against you. He touches with his mouth and his hands and all of the rest of him in ways you could not have imagined. You feel sensations that you could not have imagined.

He claims you with his teeth, biting bruises into your skin, deep purple and red broken blood vessels around your neck to replace the rope he’d cut you free from. 

There’s a heat in your stomach that you almost can’t bear. It starts between your hips and pulses outwards until it has you overwhelmed. You wonder if this is what it is like to die in flames.

You try to ask him what he is doing to you but the words come in English; you have forgotten his language. You have almost forgotten your own. You have almost forgotten how to speak at all; the only sounds your mouth knows how to make are gasps and moans and hiccups. That makes him laugh, too. He speaks to you in his language and you forget how to understand. 

Something in you snaps all of a sudden; the heat becomes unbearable, becomes focused like a flame, and you feel quite strangely lifted from your body and at once more inescapably aware of it than you ever have in your life. Your eyes roll back and show only the whites, like a horse startled. You wonder briefly if you are dying. And then in a moment it is over, and you fall back boneless and exhausted and shaking and flinching as tremors hit you and make your muscles twitch. He looks at you and grins. He takes your face in both of his hands and presses his closed mouth against yours and laughs. Your face is damp with sweat and tears and you realise you have been weeping. He licks the salt from your cheeks and bumps his nose against your nose, against the side of your face, against the underside of your jaw. You shudder and clutch at the blankets, desperate to feel like your body is yours again.

When you find enough breath in you to make words again you turn to him and ask him what happened to you, what his feeling is that overwhelmed you and took your body away from your control; on the verge of frantic, you’re begging, you’re _begging_ , but he just looks at you and smiles – there aren’t enough words that you both share for him to begin to explain. He speaks one word that you do not understand. You blink and frown at him and he just smiles. He puts his fingers over your lips. He traces the bruises on your throat and presses at them with the pad of his thumb and smiles when it makes you choke on your breath.

“Everyone will see,” he says, voice like a purr, “and they will know.”

He looks so pleased with himself. His eyes narrow and crease in the corners with his smile. His teeth are straight and sharp and when they peek between his lips you feel a ghost ache in the bruises.

You will come to understand, soon enough. You will do more than just understand; you will come to crave it, to need it, to seek it out. You will cease to fear it and begin to love it and revel in it. You will crave it from him, above anyone else. You will crave his rough hands and chapped mouth and his kisses that taste like blood. You will crave his power and the way he can make your body belong to him. 

You feel empty but warm and the straw bed is suddenly the most comfortable thing you’ve ever lain upon. The adrenaline leaves you in a rush and your eyelids grow heavy. You melt into it, and he watches you fall asleep.

 


End file.
